"Understood, John, not a problem. As a matter of fact, I want to address that in just a moment. Am I in on this?"
"Affirmative.” The Admiral paused. “Got a few things to clean up in the East concerning Lampson. Now, what I need is a blank check from the black money bank from the boys in the basement for Grant and his partner. It seems the Company's 'professor' has some offspring roaming the back woods somewhere."
Wharton's eyebrows shot up. "He's got what? How many?"
"Two, Matt. Twin boys."
Wharton chuckled. "Busy little agent, isn't he?" Then he queried suspiciously, "Is there anything further I need to know about?"
"I've got a chemical problem I need to clean up at the lab level, as well as get Stevens and Adler over the wall and then back again."
"Okay. Let's see if I got this right: We've got kids, we've got a lab, we’ve got safe houses and 'do it' money to arrange. Right?"
Admiral Torrinson responded, "It's not that easy. There's also the little issue where I have to make sure that we save the Kremlin."
Wharton's jaw dropped. "Excuse me? You're gonna have to what? Never mind! Never mind! I don't want to know. What the hell am I talking about? Yes, I do. I'm a player! Wait a minute. I am in the loop, aren't I?"
"Of course you are. I couldn't do it without you. Hell, you know more about that area than any three agents, aside from Stevens, of course."
"I think I'm getting a hard-on! I like this one!"
Torrinson chuckled. "Can you do the money for me?"
Wharton shot back, "Is a fresh fucked fox in a forest fire hot?"
Torrinson nearly choked on his laughter from Wharton's retort. "I gotta remember that one! Just confirm in English, please."
"Of course you'll get your money. How much?"
As Torrinson composed himself, he filled Wharton in on Grant's request. Then he said, "I'm going to have Grant run the plan by you and leave it in your hands to fill in the blanks. Okay by you?"
"You bet your ass, John. Do you want me to run this as a black op?"
"You bet your ass. I'd better not hear a peep from anywhere in this crazy town of D.C."
"You've got it."
"By the way, are you still seeing Heidi?" Torrinson asked.
"Oh, yeah," Wharton answered.
"Give her my best," Torrinson said with sincerity.
Wharton realized this was all the information he'd get at this time. "Can I call you back, John?"
"No problem." Torrinson flipped open his schedule book, running his finger down the next day's events. "Twenty hundred hours tomorrow, my time."
"Roger that. Oh, by the way, can you get in touch with Henry Parker at State and ask him to shit in Bradley's mess kit?"
Torrinson broke into a hearty laugh and while nodding his head to the affirmative, said, "No problem. Do it as soon as we hang up. He's scheduled to be over with the SecDef this morning, briefing him on this op."
"Thanks, John. Give my best to the family."
Chapter Seven
Shabby, yellowing net curtains hung motionless from a wooden rod covering the lower half of the grimy, plate glass window of the pub. Cigarette and cigar smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the pungent smell of beer. A once boisterous, rowdy gathering place, the dingy pub had become a place of temporary diversion ever since the city was divided. Patrons, mostly men from the local neighborhood, gathered at their regular tables, some playing skat, a popular card game. The pub was their home-away-from-home, a meeting point. Cautious mumbles filtered throughout as the patrons were always leery of who might be listening or watching. An old German saying, "quiet obedience is a citizen's first duty,” still rang true.
One by one, and staggering their arrival over a fifteen minute period, three men entered the establishment, trying to avoid direct eye contact with the other patrons. They sat together at a back table, away from dim, overhead hanging lights, and close to a back door.
Klaus Steiner rolled a cold beer mug between his hands. Thick, bushy eyebrows framed deep-set eyes that were totally emotionless. "Has there been any word where he is?"
"No," answered Otto Neus, nervously tugging at his dark blond, straggly hair that hung over his shirt collar. "Our contact hasn't been able to find out anything. One minute he was in the hotel, and the next he was gone. It's like he's disappeared off the face of the earth without leaving a trace." Neus sipped at his beer, anticipating an ass-reaming from Steiner, but Steiner just leaned back in the wooden chair, balancing it on the two back legs. Neus decided to try and persuade Steiner to change his plans. "Why bother trying to bring him back? We've got most of the formula. The drug is nearly ready for use. Why jeopardize our plans? We're so close to completing what we've set out to do, Klaus." He glanced briefly at Horst Schinkel seated across from him but knew he couldn't expect support from the man known as a humanoid.
Schinkel rested his hands on his hips, his biceps muscles bulging under a dark brown woolen sweater. Tilting his head side to side, he attempted to stretch muscles in a very thick, stubby neck. He was never one to participate in conversation. If he responded at all, the responses were usually in the form of “grunts.” For Horst Schinkel his sole purpose in life was to be a ruthless killer.
Steiner eased the chair forward and drank the last mouthful of dark beer. He wiped foam from his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand, then leaned his arms on the worn table surface. He spoke with a low gravely voice that commanded attention. "It's not just a matter of the formula now."
Neus realized what Steiner was saying. Eleven months earlier, two other members broke away from the group. Steiner waited several weeks, letting the two men drop their guard, trying to make them feel they no longer had anything to fear, unaware they were being watched. On Steiner's orders, Horst Schinkel killed both men, slitting their throats with a straight razor. Now it was Brennar who'd betrayed him and made a fool of him. To make it even more humiliating, he was an American spy.
"But we have the children. Maybe he'll come back on his own,” Neus tried to reason.
“Do really believe he will return to the East? Even if he wanted to, do you think his superiors would allow that, Otto? Do you think I’m that stupid to believe that?”
“No, Klaus, I… ” Neus cut himself off, deciding to take a different tack. "You're right, you’re right. What do you plan on doing with the two boys?"
Steiner shrugged indifferently, as he slowly ran the tips of his fingers back and forth across an unkempt mustache. Straggly hairs rubbed against his lower lip. "That remains to be seen. In the meantime, stay in touch with our contact. Keep the pressure on for more information."
"And what about Greta?"
"She was nothing but a whore. A mother would not give up her children without a fight like she did. She's probably glad to be rid of them anyway. Enough about her; right now our concern is Brennar."
Chapter Eight
A U.S. Navy helicopter lifted off the deserted end of a runway at West Berlin's Tegel Airport. The pilot rotated it ninety degrees, then headed in a southeasterly direction. In the cargo area, Grant and Adler were checking each other's gauges and hoses of their oxygen equipment.
"I don't know, sir," Adler shouted above the chopper's engine, "two vacations to East Berlin in less than a week… you must really love the place!"
"Near and dear to my heart, Joe." He checked his watch, signaled Adler, then they both slipped the straps of the oxygen masks over their heads, letting them hang from their necks.